


Drink

by remanth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Drink, First Blade, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, angel!dean, pre-destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remanth/pseuds/remanth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TFW and Crowley finally find Abaddon and head out for the final showdown. The only problem? Abaddon's knowledge and her penchant for killing those close to her enemies. Dean faces a choice: let Castiel die or become his vessel to save him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drink

They hadn’t really talked about the plan at all. Everyone knew what role they had to play, even when nothing was explicitly spelled out. Not that Dean was all that helpful at planning anyways. Not after he got the First Blade in his hand again. There was something triumphant in Crowley’s face when he’d handed it over, a gleam in his eyes when Dean had grasped the Blade like it had been a missing part of himself. But whatever the King of Hell had planned, it didn’t matter. What mattered was killing Abaddon. Even the worry and disappointment in Castiel’s eyes didn’t matter. Dean couldn’t let it matter, couldn’t feel the spike of pain that sent through his chest. Castiel would still stand beside him and so would Sam. They both knew that killing Abaddon needed to be done and Dean was the only one who could do it.

There was something nagging at Dean, something that thrummed louder than the hatred and anger and lust for killing that the Blade whipped into a fury inside him. So many things he should have said, apologies tendered and explanations given. Sam should know he was sorry for the hell he’d put the guy through, tricking him into accepting Gadreel. And Cas... well, maybe the angel already knew but Dean kinda wished he’d told him. Maybe there would be time after Abaddon was dead. Dean thought he’d be able to give up the First Blade, let the rush of power and control go. His hands shook at the thought and only quieted once Dean let that line of thought go.

“All right, squirrel, here’s where Abaddon’s holed up,” Crowley whispered to the group as he appeared beside Dean. The demon made sure to stay out of reach of the Blade and kept an eye on Dean so he could get away from the hunter if Dean took a swing at him. “Moose, why don’t you and I go keep her guards busy?”

“I still don’t like this plan,” Sam muttered, glaring at Crowley as he stepped up to Dean’s other side. “Dean, I don’t think we should be splitting up. I don’t trust Crowley and neither should you.”

“I don’t trust him, Sammy, not at all,” Dean replied, voice unintentionally cold. There was an anger burning through him, a desire to slide the First Blade through skin and bone. To slam the blade deep into Sam’s gut and twist, staring deep into his eyes to _see_ the pain and betrayal. Dean throttled that down with a few deep breaths, keeping his eyes trained on the building ahead of him and not looking at Sam. “But he wants Abaddon dead just as much as we do. The enemy of my enemy, right?”

“I will be accompanying you,” Castiel cut in, raising a hand when Crowley turned to argue. “No arguments. I _will_ be going. Dean should not face Abaddon alone. He may need a diversion to get close enough to her.”

“Fine, fine,” Crowley shook his head, raising his hands and stepping back. “Since the plan’s all set, let’s go. Abaddon surely won’t be waiting patiently in there for Dean to come kill her. Let’s go Moose.”

With one more disgruntled look and a sigh, Sam followed after Crowley. He pulled the demon-killing knife out of a belt loop and held it ready. Everyone else had their own weapons and this was the only one Sam had that would kill demons. It felt comfortable and familiar in his hand after all the times he’d used it. A shudder ran through him as a memory of Dean with the Blade in his hand after kill Magnus popped into his mind. This time, the reaction was more intense and Sam knew his brother was travelling down a similar path he’d walked with Ruby. Of course, Dean would argue this was the only way and Sam could agree. But it still felt wrong. Still felt like the hammer was waiting to drop on them all.

Sam looked back over his shoulder as he reached the side door of the building. Cas was standing with one hand on Dean’s shoulder, talking to him with a serious expression on his face. There was a calmer expression on Dean’s face, a more familiar one than the cold mask he wore when handling the Blade. It reassured Sam a little, knowing that Cas could bring out the man Dean was before all this crap started. Maybe that would save them all if this went sideways. Crowley hissed at him and Sam hurried through the door, every sense alert for demons. If Crowley was telling the truth and Abaddon was here, the place’d probably be crawling with demons.

“Dean, don’t lose yourself to the Blade,” Castiel said quietly after Sam and Crowley had left. He’d watched the struggle in Dean’s eyes after the hunter had picked up the Blade. There was very little of Dean left now and that terrified him. “It can’t control you but it can tempt you. You have to remain strong. Once we kill Abaddon, you can let it go.”

“Yeah, once the bitch is dead,” Dean muttered, a grimace stretching his lips into a parody of a grin. His heart beat faster at the thought of killing Abaddon, of killing at all really. It felt _good_ to have the power and the rage, knowing no one could hurt him right now. That he could hurt one of the most terrifying beings he’d ever met. Shifting so that Cas’s hand fell from his shoulder, Dean hefted the Blade and took a deep breath. Now he couldn’t fight what the Blade offered and he knew it. There were so many maybe’s with this whole venture but maybe there was one that didn’t have to be a maybe. Things he could tell Cas before all hell broke loose. “Cas...”

“Dean, we should go,” Castiel interrupted, his own blade slipping out of his trenchcoat sleeve and into his hand. “Sam and Crowley are inside. They should provide enough distraction for us to get to Abaddon.”

Dean nodded and reluctantly swallowed back the words he was going to say. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t implied before, meaning written inside “I prayed, every night” and “I need you” and the touches given when Dean allowed himself. For now, he had to believe that Cas knew, or at least understood. Stalking forward with measured, decisive steps, Dean led the way into the building. He chose the front door, lips still pulled back to reveal teeth in a sinister grin. He almost hoped there would be demons barring the way, wanted to use the blade and kill and kill and kill. Sounds of fighting came from the other side of the building, Sam’s voice screaming at Crowley or grunting with exertion. Castiel shadowed Dean at a safe distance, one eye on the darkness around them and one on Dean. He could see the moment Dean gave himself up to the First Blade and knew Dean was likely to strike at him if he got too close.

“Abaddon,” Dean drawled, triumph coating his words as they made their way into a large inner room. Abaddon was sitting at a table, legs crossed with one foot idly kicking at the air. She looked completely at ease and a little bored, as if she’d been waiting for their appearance and they’d taken too long. “Time to die, bitch.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Abaddon laughed, gesturing behind them. A growl erupted from the clear space directly behind Castiel as two demons appeared and grabbed his arms. Abaddon made a beckoning gesture with her hand and Castiel’s blade flew to her. She turned it over in her hand curiously, studying it. “Perks of being a Knight. Now, Dean, why don’t you put the First Blade down or I’m going to see what a hellhound can do to an angel’s vessel.”

“What makes you think I care?” Dean replied coldly, sauntering towards Abaddon. He raised the Blade, making a show of studying the teeth and then looking at Abaddon’s neck. “You know, I cut your head off once. I think it might be permanent this time.”

“I’m not bluffing, I will tear the angel to little bits,” Abaddon warned, lifting one hand warningly. “Another perk of being a Knight, I know exactly how to kill an angel. Even without one of these shiny blades.”

“Go ahead. I’ll still kill you,” Dean said, advancing even further. A scuffle from behind Abaddon caught his attention for just a moment. Dean looked up and saw two more demons holding Sam’s arms and frog-marching him into the room. There was a cut above Sam’s left eye that bled liberally, coating the side of his face. The younger Winchester also walked with a limp, right leg stained with blood. Crowley followed close behind, a silver collar around his throat with a chain leading to the demon behind him. Even at this distance, Dean could make out the sigils on the collar and knew Crowley was completely bound. “They don’t matter to me anymore. Surely you know what the Blade does, Abaddon?”

Sam made a strangled noise, struggling to get out of the demons’ hold. Dean ignored him, stepping towards Abaddon again. This needed to end now. The Blade hungered for her blood and so did Dean. It shivered in his hand as an ecstasy of anger and hate filled him. He trembled as he stopped right before Abaddon and raised the Blade. Sam continued to struggle, yelling Dean’s name before one of the demon’s slapped a hand over his mouth. Castiel merely stood watching, prepared to sacrifice himself to kill Abaddon if that’s what Dean needed. If Dean had taken a moment to look back at the angel, he would have been strongly reminded of the look on Castiel’s face when Zachariah had sent him to a Croatoan-ravaged 2014.

“Kill the angel like I showed you,” Abaddon said smoothly, never taking her eyes off Dean’s. “ _Exactly_ how I showed you. I want him to suffer before he breathes his last.”

Dean darted through the remaining space between him and Abaddon, Blade flashing with a searing red glow. It passed through Abaddon’s neck as easily as a hot knife through butter, hardly any resistance as it encountered flesh and blood and bone. Flecks of blood splashed Dean’s face and he grinned as his tongue flashed out to lick the drops off his lips. At the same time as Abaddon’s head flew through the air, Castiel let out a soul-wrenching scream. Sam screamed with him, denials falls from his lips. Dean turned to see the two demons with their hands buried deep in Castiel’s stomach. Something invisible licked up the blood falling to the floor, the hellhound growling in pleasure at the taste.

Still possessed by the rage and hate, Dean ran forward and stabbed the first demon in the chest. As it flickered orange in the body it possessed, Dean ripped the Blade out and sliced the other demon’s throat. The bodies fell, hands pulling out of Castiel’s belly with a fleshy, ripping noise. Castiel fell forward with a breathless groan, hands coming up to try and stop the blood gushing from his belly. As he fell, Dean caught him, turning the Blade so that it didn’t pierce the angel. Now, glowing white drained from the wound, the first bits of Castiel’s grace to bleed out. The other demons holding Sam and Crowley hurriedly made their exit, black smoke rushing out of screaming mouths before empty vessels dropped to the floor. Sam grabbed the chain leading to Crowley’s collar, wanting to make sure he knew where the King was at all time. Then, he limped to Dean’s side, wiping blood out of his eyes.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, voice still cold but tinged with sorrow. “I’m so sorry, man. I had to do it, had to kill her. You know I had to.”

“Yes, I know,” Castiel coughed, blood dribbling from the side of his mouth. He could feel the trembling in Dean’s hand, felt the heat emanating from the Mark and flowing up Dean’s arm. “Drop the Blade, Dean. Let it go.”

Gasping, the thought of letting go physically painful, Dean shook his head. He looked up at Sam and catalogued his brother’s injuries quickly. They were nasty but nothing life-threatening. The wound in Sam’s leg had finally stopped bleeding though the cut above his eye still leaked lazily. Crowley didn’t appear hurt at all though he wore a dejected expression as his shoulders slumped down. Being chained wasn’t all that fun but it definitely made the King of Hell much safer for them to be around.

“Sammy, get out of here and take Crowley with you,” Dean growled, jerking his head towards the exit. “Dump him in the dungeon at the bunker and take care of yourself.”

“But,” Sam started to argue before Dean shook his head vehemently.

“ _Go_ ,” Dean ordered, voice harsh. Sam studied Dean’s face for a moment, a little unnerved at the grimace and how tightly Dean was gripping the Blade. Finally, Sam nodded and started walking.

“See ya, Cas,” he said quietly as he passed by Castiel, sorrow and worry clear in his eyes. Castiel nodded back, fighting against the pain in his stomach. He knew it for the goodbye it was and didn’t want to worry Sam further by showing the pain. Receding footsteps followed the throaty purr of the Impala, sounding so very far away. Then Castiel turned back to Dean and bit back a groan as more of his grace started bleeding out. He didn’t have long now.

“Cas, you can’t die man,” Dean mumbled, eyes distant as he fought against the emotions the Blade was whipping up inside him. Yet still, he couldn’t drop it. There was a part of him that craved what the Blade offered, that delighted in the blood staining the old teeth.

“Dean,” Castiel said decisively, reaching up to cup Dean’s cheek as he’d done once before in a crypt. Dean met his eyes in surprise at the tone, completely focussed on him. “Drop the Blade, Dean. You don’t need it anymore.”

Dean nodded once sharply, putting his hand out to the side to drop the Blade. He studied it for several long moments, listening to Cas breathe in his arms. Everything they’d gone through to reach this point ran through his mind, flashes of memory and snatches of conversation. It took every bit of willpower, and trust in Cas, but Dean managed to open his fingers. They felt stiff, unyielding, as if fighting to hold onto the Blade. But it dropped from his opened hand and clattered to the floor. Somehow, it was a very final sound and Dean felt a weight he hadn’t even been aware of lift from his shoulders. Only to feel pain crash down on him when he looked at Cas again and saw that the angel’s eyes had closed and he was breathing in harsh, short gasps.

“Thank you,” Castiel said, smiling just a bit as he heard the Blade drop. “You’re not poison, Dean. You never were. You need to believe that and move on. Heal.”

“C’mon, Cas, can’t you heal yourself?” Dean asked desperately, pulling Castiel closer carefully. He couldn’t lose the guy now, not when they were free of the big bad. Not when he’d been so close to letting everything spill from his lips, revealing secrets he’d carried for years. “I’ve seen you do it before. You can do it now.”

“Not this time,” Castiel replied wryly, coughing hard and letting out a strangled scream. He held up one hand, fighting hard to keep it from falling back down. His strength was almost gone and gleaming white mixed with dark red stained his hand. “My grace is too damaged along with my vessel. There’s nothing I can do this time. And I don’t think God is going to be bringing me back.”

Dean’s eyes blurred as tears filled them, one tracking down the blood still speckling his cheek. It couldn’t end this way, he couldn’t let it. Not after everything they’d been through, all the times the both of them had died. Then an idea occurred as memories of previous conversations flashed through his mind and Dean grasped for it desperately with both hands. He didn’t quite like it but it might save Castiel. He’d do anything to accomplish that right now. An angel could heal damage to their grace as long as they didn’t have to worry too much about their vessel. Dean was the designated vessel for Michael, an archangel far more powerful than Castiel was. Surely he’d be enough for Cas to heal himself?

“Cas, I have an idea,” Dean murmured, hope and terror mingling in his chest and making him nauseous. “I want you to use me as a vessel. Yours is too wounded and you can heal yourself without it, right? So use me.”

“Dean, I can’t,” Castiel gasped, eyes whipping open to stare in disbelief at Dean. “I won’t do that. There’s no guarantee I could heal myself and I might kill you in the attempt. The demons were taught well by Abaddon. The damage is... extensive.”

“I don’t care. If there’s a chance to save you, I’m taking it.” Dean replied stubbornly, shaking his head. “So come on, Cas. Use me. Yes.”

Castiel studied Dean’s face, ignoring the blackness that was starting to creep in on the edges of his vision. He knew what that was and didn’t have the time to think about it right now. What Dean was suggesting was almost a violation in the hunter’s mind, something he’d fought desperately against during the Apocalypse. To be honest, Castiel had believed that Dean would avoid anything that made him other than human with a single-minded determination. But there was stubbornness, determination, and a curious sort of... hope in his eyes. That hope, and the tension that had existed between them since they’d first met, made up Castiel’s mind. Taking a deep breath, Castiel nodded and closed his eyes. His fingers tightened on Dean’s face for a moment as he worked free of his vessel, white light flooding from his mouth. Then Castiel enveloped Dean and slipped inside through Dean’s mouth.

Dean watched for as long as he could, squinting his eyes against the bright light. When Castiel enveloped him in that light, Dean felt a cold breeze wash over him. And when Castiel flowed into his mouth, Dean felt the cold as if he’d been chewing mint gum and taken a drink of ice cold water. It was a burning cold and Dean fought back the scream that built at the pain of it. Yet it didn’t quite feel like the invasion he’d expected. Once the light was gone and Dean could open his eyes again, he took stock of his body. There was a warmth surrounding him now, something comforting that Dean wanted to melt into. One of his hands lifted to the same level as his eyes, turning this way and that as his eyes studied it.

 _Hello, Dean_ Dean heard in his mind. He heaved a sigh of relief at the familiar voice. Cas had survived the transition and Dean was overjoyed about it. _It appears your idea is going to work. I’m already working on healing the damage. But it will be slow_.

 _Hey, Cas. Take the time you need_ , Dean replied the same way. He grinned and patted himself on the shoulder as he would have if Cas were standing in front of him. There was time now, to find the words to the secrets he wanted to share. And perhaps it’d be easier, here in the privacy of his own head. _Welcome home, man_.


End file.
